


let's go back to the start

by Lizzen



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Surprise Guests - Freeform, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 11:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: There are consequences for saving a man’s life.Written Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming





	let's go back to the start

**Author's Note:**

> love to th_esaurus for being my touchstone

When Peter was fifteen, he turned down the Avengers.

A year later, he didn’t have a choice.

 

*  
Adrian Toomes gets out after six years; early release for good behavior. His wife and daughter aren’t present as he walks into the sunshine as a free man. There is, however, a familiar face waiting for him.

Peter smiles, uncrosses his arms and waves. Feels like the right thing to do.

He watches as the man stops in his tracks, and a certain darkness shadows his face before he makes a hawkish grin. He doesn’t wave back, but he does pick up his feet. When close enough, Adrian stops. Narrows his eyes, raises his hands up just a little. “Have you come to put me right back in?”

There’s something wild about him, and it’s not just having four walls closing in on him for years. Peter saw it before. A man with enormous control until he loses it, becomes untamed.

But not _unhinged_ ; Peter has seen too much now. Seen true evil unleashed.

So he opens his mouth. “I’ve come to offer you a job.” There are consequences for saving a man’s life.

Adrian looks him up and down with a bracing stare. “Now, now, I don’t work for Stark.”

Something breathless possesses him and he struggles to speak easily. “I have a team of engineers who need you.” He stops for a breath. “I need your vision.”

And there’s a toothy grin out of Adrian that is downright chilling. “I’m a bad guy, Parker.”

“You’re the kind of guy I need on my team,” Peter says resolutely, “and I’ve got loads of new toys for you to play with. You’ve seen the news. You’ve seen what we went up against.” And there’s that hungry look in Adrian’s eye, and Peter knows it’s done.

Adrian moves close, closer than comfortable. He’s an imposing figure, and Peter is still so, so very slight. “You’ll regret this,” he says but there’s a shadow of a smile on his lips.

“No, I won’t.”

 

*  
It starts out pretty raw: Adrian’s still got prison in his skin and blood. Takes some sharpening to get back to his usual edge. Peter keeps a watchful eye between missions, but all reports start to come back that Adrian’s a workhorse, an inspiration. A true team leader.

And the man keeps writing letters, writing so many letters to Liz, hoping for something in return. Peter knows Liz is still in Oregon, studying for her masters. Dating a woman named Dena who owns a greyhound and is super active on Instagram.

Peter can’t do much about it, but Spider-Man does swing by the lab one night. Asks her for forgiveness.

“For who? My father, or for you?” she spits out. “I don’t have any forgiveness left.”

There’s a rage in her, an echo of what he’s seen before. “He loves you,” he says.

Her steely resolve falters just a little at that; her shoulders cave in slightly. “I’m sure he does.”

He takes a step closer. “You’re not alone,” he tries and her back straightens again.

“Don’t you have people to save? Get out.”

There are secrets and secrets and secrets in his mouth, begging to be voiced. He bites his cheek so hard that it bleeds, and seems to slide into the shadows at the force of her gaze.

 

*  
Vision is different since Thanos. Peter used to talk into the night with his neighbor, play chess obsessively, and be chased out of Vision’s room with a knowing look from Wanda. There’s none of that now, there’s nothing lighthearted about him now.

Hell, everyone is different since Thanos.

And no one really is used to a different man bearing Cap’s title, no matter how well he leads them.

So it’s nice, it’s strangely nice to have someone, someone _unchanged_ to talk to.

 

*  
After a couple of beers, Adrian is almost likeable. “You’re a man now. You can vote and drink and fuck whoever you want.”

“I don’t know about that last part,” Peter says but laughs anyway.

Adrian shakes his head as if to get rid of old cobwebs, and his eyes focus in on Peter’s. “I had a man in my crew once like you. Thoughtful, he was. Thought he could make a difference.”

“What happened to him?” Peter asks.

“Died, died of something, I don’t know. Suddenly he wasn’t on my crew anymore.” Adrian stops, and something hitches in his breath. “Missed his smart mouth though.”

Peter nods, opens another beer for him, and settles into his chair. Hoping for Adrian to keep talking. But it’s a strange sort of silence before: “Did Stark ever fuck you?”

Blinking rapidly, Peter says, “Excuse me?”

Adrian leans in. “Stark. Did he--”

“No, never.”

Peter watches something like shame shadow over Adrian’s face. And so he doesn’t press, doesn’t pursue.

 

*  
Tony’s retired now, in theory, (again), but he does pop in when Cap asks nicely. They’re paired up each time; Iron Man and Spider-Man, soaring through skies and shattering enemies.

“I don’t need your chatter,” Cap will say and both of them will immediately jump in with a quip.

Behind the mask, Peter will just grin until it hurts.

“Get your head in the game, kid,” Tony will say in a close flyby and Peter will automatically lift his hand to shoot web, muscle memory.

It will remind him, though, that everything was so much easier when he was young, when he was new.

 

*  
Peter comes back with a black eye that he can’t shake.

“How’s the other guy look?” Adrian asks.

There’s a wince first first before: “Bruce had to handle it in the end, so.”

Adrian’s gaze is fixed on his eye, a hard look. “I gave you one of those?”

And Peter laughs. “You’re responsible for a number of my scars, yes. Yes, you gave me a black eye. Briefly.”

Leaning back in his chair, Adrian shoots him such a shit-eating grin.

Peter sees it and smirks. “Briefly,” he repeats very slowly.

 

*  
He used to have nightmares about Adrian. Fifteen was young to face off with such a man. He remembers vividly the panic that curled inside of his chest as Adrian's mouth was full of threats, calmly spoken in a luxury car. And the gutting recognition of Liz's steely gaze. His nightmares were simple: falling out of Adrian's grip in flight. Staring up at cold, bright eyes, and falling forever.

Thanos burned that nightmare out of him, easy. Peter wakes up in cold sweats from different terrors now.

So: when Adrian’s voice gets too gravelly or he gets too close for comfort, Peter’s sense flares up with familiarity more than fear.

 

*  
It’s always a good day when Hope van Dyne walks into his lab and hands him a new project. It’s a better day when she stays to help.

They’re in the midst of discussing meta-meta-particles, when she looks up at him and opens her mouth and she says: “You’ve got this. You’ve got this better than I do sometimes. Why do you need that man downstairs?”

It’s a shocking non sequitur and he has to lean back, look at her eyes and adjust his thoughts. Hates how he’s a man and they keep treating him like a baby. “I’m saving him,” he says. “He needs saving.”

She shakes her head. “Some can’t be saved.”

“Some can’t be saved,” he echoes and thinks of them, the litany of men and women they’ve defeated. Thinks that he wouldn’t let them break bread with an Avenger nevermind be housed in their facility. “This man can.”

 

*  
“Me and the boys have a bet going,” Adrian says in greeting. “How soon were the Widow and Cap fucking after Rogers died?”

If Peter had pearls, he would clutch them. “This is the sort of talk downstairs?”

Adrian grins. “We see the tarnished sides of earth’s mightiest. It’s nice.”

“You’re wrong about them. Natasha would never--”

And Adrian holds up his hands. “Fine, fine, don’t tell me. The truth will always out.”

Peter stares. Shakes his head. “You’re wrong about us,” he says.

“Oh, there’s tarnish on you too, I can see it sometimes when you’re not paying attention.”

“I’m not--” Peter starts. Finishes: “I’m not _tarnished_.”

There’s something dark in Adrian’s expression that is quickly wiped away with an easy smile. “Hey, hey,” Adrian says, and reaches out to touch his shoulder and it lingers there. “How about we talk shop instead?”

 

*  
He watches Nat and Bucky the next few days and sees it. It’s more than loyalty in her eyes and more than respect in his. Peter waves at them when they catch him looking, a benign sort of gesture and he empties his face of emotion.

He loved Rogers, in his own way, and he knows they did too.

Everything was so much simpler before Thanos.

 

*  
There’s a fire to put out, and Peter burns the midnight oil in the lab to fix it. Calls Adrian a few hours in to help. Peter’s eye for detail and Adrian’s broader perspective dovetail into a certain success, and he’s warmed by it. A rare sort of partnership.

Midway through, he feels Adrian’s eyes on his neck, on his face and hands. But when he turns to look, Adrian’s eyes are on his work.

When they finish, there’s an elation inside of him, like air rising in a balloon. “We did good,” he says and reaches out for a fist bump. Nixes the idea of a hug.

Adrian looks at him with a dark, familiar expression in his eyes. “Saved the day,” he says quietly. Doesn’t lift his hands. Gets to his feet instead, and gets close. “You’re really good at this sort of thing, Pete. Brilliant, even,” he says. “Why did you need me here?”

“We were just a team, just now. Didn’t you feel it?” Peter blurts out.

“I felt something,” he replies. “Something I haven’t in years.”

His sense alerts him to danger; the man is ready to throw a punch, right in his face. _Okay_ , he thinks. _I’ll take it_. And he stands very still.

“I need to know first,” Adrian says. “Did you fuck my daughter?”

Peter shakes his head, once, twice. “No, sir.” He feels a little unsteady, and his brain sort of zeros out.

“Good,” Adrian says, simply, and his lips crush against Peter’s.

 

*  
This is what it's like to kiss Adrian Toomes: His mouth consumes you slowly; with tongue and with teeth and with lips, he's everywhere. His hands hold you still, as if you'd flee from him, and if you bruised, he would leave handprints on your hip, your shoulder. Even your neck.

This is not how lovers kiss.

Peter's been kissed before, of course, and well kissed. That scarred mercenary left a memorable mark on him years back. The kind of intoxicating kiss that pulls you in and makes you forget the world, go weak at the knees, and say ridiculously sweet things between breaths.

Kissing Adrian isn't like that. It's almost an act of aggression, it's a strange sort of battle and Peter is out of his depth here. Unable to meet him on equal footing.

"What do you want from me?" he asks and lets a surge of oxygen fill his starving lungs.

"What do you want from _me_?" Adrian echoes back with something truly desperate in his voice.

They stare at each other and Peter considers that a touch starved man may break when he cannot bend any longer. He was a family man, once, with a beloved wife and adoring daughter. And now the only thing he has is a pile marked "return to sender" and Peter. He's a ship with a strange sort of rudder and hardly any stars to sail by.

No wonder he kisses like a man lost, trying to find answers in Peter's silenced mouth.

Peter says, "I believe that--,” he pauses. “You’ve never outed me and had plenty of chance. You’re a good man despite--."

Adrian interrupts. "I'm not."

That's when he gets on his knees and starts to expertly handle Peter's belt. "And I'll show you I'm not."

It's a strange thing that Peter doesn't fight it, lets it happen. Considers that Adrian needs this, needs him like this. He's been blown before, of course, though not this good. And there's something vulnerable about it this time; his dick in-between teeth and Adrian's fingers sliding a teasing touch against Peter's ass. Anyone could walk in the lab right now, witness this. Adrian, on his knees, has the upper hand. And failing miserably at muffling his moan, he comes so hard in Adrian's mouth that all he sees is a blinding white light.

Adrian looks up at him from the ground and the smile on his lips reaches his eyes. "I'm going to fuck you one day," he says and he closes his eyes, leans back a little as if savoring the thought. "If you're interested."

"If that's what you need."

He shakes his head, bemused. "I'll ruin you."

Peter shivers, feels the words rattle in his bones, but something firm holds him up, keeps his muscles taunt. "I'd like to see you try."

 

*  
"Hey, asshole!" Peter hears the voice ringing through the main Avengers recreational area and he closes his eyes. T'Challa looks up from the chess game and cross his arms as if to say "these guys again."

Peter swivels in his chair. "You're back!" He hopes it sounds excited and friendly.

Rocket shifts a familiar looking alien weapon to his other shoulder. "You won't mind that I stole this from your boyfriend downstairs, Ant Baby."

"I'm Spider--and he's not my--"

" _What_ ever."

Pulling himself up on a chair next to them, Rocket sighs out as if the world is on his shoulders and he’s the only one available to save the day. "We got bored and you guys have a lot of free shit, so -- ah, your king's in trouble, sweet cheeks."

T'Challa smiles, leans back. "I didn't know you played."

"I'm not an _animal_ ," Rocket shoots back and makes a play for Peter's side. "That's better. You'll lose in five moves instead of two."

As T'Challa surveys the board, Rocket leans in, and all sotto voce: "Your boyfriend's got talent but he smells all wrong."

Peter flinches.

"You should know that before--" and Rocket oddly hesitates. "Before he gets further under your skin."

"I'm not a child," Peter says, a touch petulant. "I can handle it."

"Didn't say you were, didn’t say you couldn't, kid. Just a friendly warning--" and louder: "oh, now you're losing in one move. Jesus Christ, kitten, you're good!"

 

*  
Peter has the nightmare again, first time in years. Metal feathers cut through his mask, slicing his cheek open and there’s blood and tears flowing down his face in a slick wet line. He’s gripped tight by fabricated talons and no web appears at the frantic flick of his wrist.

“Why did you come after me?” the voice behind a metal mask and shining goggles says. “Why?”

Words aren’t easy in dreams. “I had no other choice.”

The response: “And now it’s up to me to make a decision. What will I choose? Your life or your--”

And Peter falls, a slow sort of descent; watching as Adrian lingers in the air, not escaping or getting back to the job at hand. Just keeping his eye on Peter, until the only thing Peter can see is a little speck of light above him.

 

*  
He’s seen the darkness inside of a person's heart; it's part of the job, it's part of why he does the job. So there's nothing surprising in what Adrian does to him in the dark watches of the night while the others sleep. There's a touch of madness to it, being fucked into the mattress by a former adversary; but there's also something pure. A different kind of face off; man to man. Combat through another lens.

And whenever he’s outmatched, Peter always plays to win.

With a tenacious tenacity, he gives as good as he gets, twists his body near impossibly so that Adrian can’t look anywhere but in his eyes. “Is this all you’ve got?” he offers, a mercy to a man who’s holding back.

And that’s when Adrian lets go, lets go, lets go; and it’s rough, perhaps a little too rough. But Peter’s not made of glass. Urges him on further. He thinks, _Let me take it. Let me bear it for you._

It’s a lot. It’s rage and loneliness and hopelessness and it’s strength and honesty and real. It’s so very real.

When it’s done, when it’s over, Adrian pulls out messily and falls to the side, curled up slightly. “Jesus,” he breathes.

Peter wonders if he'll feel it in the morning or if his abilities will wash it all away, leaving only a sense memory behind. Adrian will feel it; simple flesh and blood meets a superhuman, and consequences are palpable.

That’s when he feels the touch of a hand, fingers running down one of his scars. “Is this one mine?” Adrian says softly.

Looking back at it, Peter gives him a once over before: “not that one, a few inches to the left, though--”

Adrian’s finger presses against it, a firm and gentle touch. “There’s more, surely.”

And they map it out together; what’s Adrian’s, what’s not. Adrian kisses the worst of them, a strange sort of foreplay after they’re spent.

 

*  
His new suit works like a dream, and Karen laughs with him as they slice through the air like a bird of prey.

Cap’s crisp voice rings out in his comm. “Don’t get cocky, Parker.” And Peter sees the sharp twist of Bucky’s arm in the air. “I need you on my six.”

“Sir,” he says, a little breathless, and gets into position.

 

*  
Peter spends three days in medical, most of them in a coma. His eyes blink open to see the ridiculous beard first before he recognizes Doctor Strange. “Stephen,” he says. “It wasn’t the new suit.”

The man smirks. “You’re on bed rest for a week, kid.”

He blinks. “I heal _instantly_.”

“It was a nice way of saying you’re grounded.”

“The hell I am.”

“And your little pet project is over. We’re scrapping it and him.”

Peter scrambles out of medical before anyone can stop him.

 

*  
He gets to the quinjet in time to see Adrian trussed up like he’s some kind of supervillain headed for the Raft. “STOP,” he cries out. “It wasn’t the suit.”

There’s a searing moment of wind against his face as he sails through it, an impossible leap to get closer.

Adrian can barely turn his head, but he watches.

A net of red catches him, holds him in the air, and Wanda very carefully, very slowly brings him down. Trapped like an animal, he fights against the impregnable bonds of magic, and he fights and he fights.

“Peter,” she says. “Peter, it was him. We have evidence, we have a confession. It was him.”

 _I’m no longer a child for you to protect_ , he thinks. “Let. Me. Out,” he says very carefully, and the crimson shroud dissipates.

In another leap, he’s reached him. “Adrian, I’m so sorry. I never meant for this--”

“I did it. I altered your suit so you’d die on your mission. It was me,” he says gently, as if to soothe him.

“No, no, no, you’re lying or under mind control or--”

Adrian smiles and there’s something wet in his eyes. “Stop trying to save me, kid.” And guards begin to wheel him into the jet. “See you around.”

Peter stares, bleary eyed as pain returns in force. An ache that his body is still trying to heal.

And he stands there until the quinjet is aloft, and flying away; until there’s nothing more he can see.

 

*  
“This sort of thing,” Bucky says, “It comes with the job.”

It’s an interruption, but not unwelcome. Peter’s been sitting alone on the tarmac for a while now. And it’s not as if they talk on the regular. Peter’s got a bottomless well of respect for the man but the new Captain America is taciturn at best.

“Steve believed in me when no one else did.” Bucky’s so quiet it’s hard to hear him. “Against all odds. And I fell in love with him for it.”

Peter _knew_ , but this was the first admission, so he keeps a dead silence.

Bucky continues: “I don’t fault you for believing in him.” Each word seems to be carefully selected. “Steve would have done the same.”

“Captain Rogers was a-- He was a good man.”

There’s a shadow of a smile on Bucky’s lips. “We can’t all be good men.” And he hesitates before: “No matter how hard we try.”

 

*  
When Peter was twenty-one, he was a full fledged Avenger with the scars to prove it.

 

\---


End file.
